Undeterred by what many would consider a weak demand for a drug user’s tossed needles, she stuck by her story.

“I buried my red (syringe) box in the park and when I went back, somebody had stolen it,” she said.

Angie, who injects cocaine multiple times a day, didn’t hold up her end of the syringe-exchange bargain. Nevertheless, she got what she came for: a supply of clean, new syringes and a box for her used ones, free and completely illegal, from the Underground Syringe Exchange of Denver.

For more than a year, USED has been clandestinely conducting transactions its organizers say Colorado ought to bring into the open: syringe swaps meant to keep infection rates down by providing drug users with new syringes while taking used needles off the street.

Although 185 cities, including Boulder, now condone exchanges, that’s not going to happen statewide in Colorado anytime soon. A legislative push this year to make legal exchanges possible was dead before arrival in the statehouse.

“The issue is more complex than it perhaps first appears,” said Evan Dreyer, Gov. Bill Ritter’s spokesman. “In fact, as they began to look at this proposal, law enforcement and the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment both expressed serious reservations.”

In any case, a coalition of public-health officials, treatment providers, advocates and a city commission have gingerly set their sights on Denver.

“In the public-health community, it’s very common-sense,” he said. “It keeps them from getting these chronic, potentially fatal diseases; it gives us an opportunity to link them into treatment; and it lessens the economic burden on the already overburdened health care system.”

Hickenlooper called for more study, and that is happening, Maraccini said. The commission is checking out other programs, searching for a model.

Political risks daunting

Denver District Attorney Mitch Morrissey has concerns about a local program conflicting with state law, spokeswoman Lynn Kimbrough said.

“He can’t simply choose to ignore state law,” Kimbrough said.

In the meantime, the Hep C Connection is publicizing its “Drop to Stop” campaign this week, encouraging anybody with used syringes to drop them at one of several sites around Denver. They’ll get no new needles, just the satisfaction of knowing their old ones are safely gone.

Maraccini was circumspect about what steps Denver might consider to get around state law, which makes possession of syringes without a prescription a crime. Hickenlooper’s office was too.

“Anything in contradiction to city or state law would have to be carefully considered,” Eric Brown, spokesman for the mayor, said in an e-mail. “We’re just not there yet.”

Needle exchanges are controversial propositions. They are also politically risky and invariably invite charges that they encourage or condone drug use.

Proponents say the drug use is happening already — and when it happens with dirty needles, it endangers everyone.

“I think it’s unfortunate that people take a public-health issue and make it a moral issue,” said Andrew McClure, a member of the Denver Drug Strategy Commission.

But even those who couldn’t care less about drug users should consider the cost to taxpayers of treating HIV and hepatitis C, McClure said.

A year’s course of treatment for hepatitis C averages about $30,000, said Denver Health’s Thrun. According to him, several studies refute the argument that exchange programs encourage or prolong drug use. Instead, he said, data show people in exchange programs are more likely to seek treatment.

A 2005 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention study found that 86 percent of exchange programs surveyed made referrals for treatment. In addition, more than 80 percent offered counseling and testing for HIV and hepatitis C.

The state health department estimates that nearly 80,000 Coloradans have been infected with hepatitis C. A 2005 survey of 500 Denver drug users found 52 percent had the hepatitis C virus.

“HIV is always a concern,” said Monique Whalen, director of the Drop-In Center, which serves drug users. “But hep C in Colorado is much more of a concern than HIV. It’s a virus that lives outside the human body. And people don’t live in a vacuum. They are sharing syringes, having sex, sharing households.”

Eliminating criminal penalties for carrying syringes has benefits, she said.

“Just the fear of being caught with one means people will leave them in hidden spaces, in the park or the dumpster or a public bathroom,” Whalen said.

People like Angie.

Syringes and a scolding

Since what its staffers do is illegal, USED doesn’t offer its services anywhere in particular. Rather, its 50 or so clients call a cellphone to set up meetings with volunteers.

USED orders syringes, alcohol and wipes online. Those and other expenses amount to $700 or $800 a month, said one of the group’s volunteers, who asked to be identified only by an initial: S. Money for those supplies comes from donations and fundraisers at underground clubs, he said.

Each transaction is carefully recorded: for April, USED gave out 1,670 syringes, and got back 1,650.

As he logged miles walking downtown Denver on a drizzly Saturday, S. explained that Angie is an example of why, to him, exchanges are a good idea.

She’s homeless, has tested positive for hepatitis C and is afraid of getting caught with syringes. So she buries them in a park, where thieves or dogs can dig them up and scatter them.

Eventually, S. gives Angie her new syringes and a scolding about losing her old ones.

Then, Angie and her friend, Leticia, pull scruffy daytimers out of backpacks that hold most of what they own and ask about services like health care or check-ups or meals. He gives them dates and times, which they carefully record.

He gently nags them about getting treatment for hepatitis C. But they know there isn’t much treatment out there for them until they stop using.

And they’re going to do that, they say. Soon.

Angie talks about cutting back on daily injections like a two-pack-a-day smoker who has cut back to one.

“I’m gaining weight, see?” She lifts up her sweatshirt and proudly pokes at a croissant-sized roll as evidence of her emerging health.

Leticia, who has two young children she can’t see, says she’s down to three heroin injections a day.

“I’m trying to wean myself down and off. We both are. And we’re both healthier,” she said.

The Drop-In Center’s Whalen understands that the public might doubt whether anyone who injects drugs is really concerned about infections.

“Take my word for it: Having been an injector myself, I can say yes, they are.”

Many are also concerned about their habit, said S.

Their desire to stop is real, he said.

“I still have a future,” Angie said. “I just wish I’d pull my head out of my ass” and get on with it.

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